


Father of the groom

by ms_cataclysm



Series: Winterfair Gifts [5]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), Period-Typical Sexism, Pre-Canon, Time Period: Reign of Dorca Vorbarra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:25:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_cataclysm/pseuds/ms_cataclysm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another unpleasant old vor muscles in to my pre canon sequence about Piotr Vorkosigan and his parents and gives us the doubtful pleasure of his views on his Emperor, his son and his inlaws.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father of the groom

**Author's Note:**

> Another glimpse of the pre canon vorkosiverse. 
> 
> In this fic, Piotr Vorkosigan's mother is a Vormuir not a Vorrutyer . Pierre Le Sanguinaire is still an ancestor of his but is two generations back at the start rather than the end of Dorca's reign. Selig's father should be another Piotr but that was just too confusing so he's Sasha.

Count Sasha Vorkosigan was not looking forward to visiting the Vormuir estates. He remembered Pierre Vormuir from their schooldays. Vormuir had been an unpleasant, rabbity older boy who had abruptly transferred to Bonsanklar Agricultural College after a bit of “fun” in the dorm got out of hand. He'd seen Vormuir in the crowd at the usual state receptions and council meetings over the last thirty odd years, but hadn't had any inclination to find out whether his old schoolfellow had improved. 

And now, thanks to Xav (or should he blame Dorca?) , he was going to have Vormuir as an in-law. Still, it could hardly be worse than the old days when his Vorrutyer grandparents had been around. 

As the Count and his son, Selig, rode through kilometre after kilometre of well-kept farmland and orange groves, he could not help but notice that the Vormuir estates were in better order than his own. Despite the gossip about Vormuir's miserly habits, he could evidently bring himself to spend money on some things.

The Vormuir estates had always been wealthy -the best farmland on Barrayar some said – Natalya's dowry might well be better than he feared. And if the wretched girl was as rabbit-faced and unpleasant as her father, she would hardly have caused them all so much trouble. Xav had his faults but poor taste was hardly one of them. 

Unlike his son. Ellen Vorrutyer. What had possessed his son to make a beeline for that girl? He had almost been relieved when Dorca had dropped that heavy handed hint about clearing up Xav's mess -but not so relieved that he hadn't taken the opportunity to remind Dorca about renewing the cavalry mount supply contracts. If they weren't going to have Ellen's dowry -almost big enough to make up for having Ellen in the family – then he had to make ends meet somehow. Dorca had had the contracts all ready; but that was Dorca, always one jump ahead. The contract terms had been generous but not that generous considering the magnitude of the favour. He wondered if Dorca knew all the reasons why he didn't want his son to marry Ellen and had factored that into the negotiations. You never knew with Dorca.

His son had made no objection to the proposal . He had been quieter than usual on the long ride. Perhaps he was thinking about his future bride, perhaps he was thinking about Ellen. Perhaps the gossip about Ellen had finally caught up with him. Perhaps he was thinking about the contrast between the rich countryside around them and the Vorkosigan lands or more probably he was bored of the journey and not thinking at all. 

They had stopped to clear up a pocket of Vorinnis rebels but the sport had been poor, hardly worth the day's delay. Typical Vorinnis. Even his revolting peasants were substandard. It had been a mistake to think that the hunt might divert his sulky son. 

They rode on. It began to rain. Traditionally, the suitor's party were supposed to arrive shortly after dawn to show their eagerness for the match . It also meant that you had a full day to dicker over the terms. He had planned to halt and camp overnight on the edges of the Vormuir estate – he liked to follow the traditional forms when it was not too inconvenient- but that would make them a day late now, an impossible insult to the Vormuirs. They would have to press on, even if it meant arriving late in the day with a full day's mud , not to mention distinct traces of rebel, on their clothes. 

In the end they did a little better than that. They arrived at the Vormuir Castle gatehouse with an hour of daylight to spare. The Vormuirs had tactfully absented themselves and sent a small army of servants down to the gatehouse to attend to the visitors so that the travellers could clean up before plunging straight into full visit ceremonial. 

Lady Sofia Vormuir (that was the heir's wife, Pierre's eldest daughter , Sasha reminded himself) had even sent a pretty little note apologising for not greeting them at the gatehouse as she wished to oversee the last details of their preparations for such important visitors herself, a courteous fiction since any vor chatelain would undoubtedly been ready since dawn . 

This was better manners than Sasha had expected from the Vormuirs . Perhaps some of his new in-laws would not be a complete embarassment. 

The path from the gatehouse to the inner castle was a modern straight one rather than the traditional defensive winding curve. So Sasha could see the reception committee awaiting him at the doors of the inner castle. He could not spot Pierre but a tall woman dressed in Vormuir colours holding a traditional two handed greeting cup was obviously one of his daughters. Even from this distance, her figure was that of a goddess. If this was Natalya, then it was easy to see what had appealed to Prince Xav. How could that repulsive rodent Vormuir have produced a daughter even half as spectacular as this?

As they drew closer, Sasha realised that the lush curves were almost too rounded; his goddess was pregnant. He felt a rush of hot anger, only halted when he saw that she wore her hair up and so must be married – one of the other daughters then, not Natalya. 

The goddess had stepped forward to offer him the greeting cup, her bright welcoming smile was beginning to waver at his grim expression. Sasha hastily arranged his features more suitably and accepted the cup from -Sofia , yes it must be Sofia. 

A teenage girl whom he hadn't noticed before stepped forward with a second greetings cup for his son. She looked far too young for Xav's kind of trouble, damn him, but this must surely be Natalya. Her face was pretty enough but she was a tiny little thing with only a hint of a curve to her figure. Next to glorious Sofia she barely seemed female at all. He supposed that if you liked that sort of thing, that was the sort of thing you liked . 

His son seemed undismayed by the sight of his petite child bride which only confirmed his poor opinion of Selig's taste. Selig was actually showing signs of animation . He was smiling down at the girl in a way that would have made Ellen Vorrutyer mad as fire had she been there to see it. Either his son was a better actor with finer manners than he had thought or the girl was genuinely to his liking. 

His attention was caught by a soft cough from his goddess, patiently waiting at his side . He wondered idly whether her husband could be posted somewhere distant or dangerous, preferably both. It wouldn't be difficult – a quiet word to Vorkraft and Major Vormuir would be packing for Kyrill Island. But even a Sofia wasn't worth the risk. For a man with two official mistresses and a legitimised son, Dorca could be irritatingly hypocritical and Dorca usually found out sooner or later. On the other hand, maybe there would be a happy accident. 

He smiled at Sofia and offered her his arm so she could lead him into the great hall where that pestilential creep Vormuir would be waiting.


End file.
